


Bourbon and Mint

by Easterngate



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1920s, Deleted Scenes, Fluff and Angst, I just wanted to see them as flappers, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23672326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Easterngate/pseuds/Easterngate
Summary: Her mind was a muddle of feelings and confusion as if it had been replaced by runoff from the Thames. It could not be said they parted on good terms. Crowley remembered her mocking echo clearly. She had wanted to push him in with the ducks for heaven's sake. What was the angel playing at acting almost sweet to her now?"You've just been sleeping? Since-" Aziraphale cut off but they both knew what he was referring to. She shrugged noncommittally. Aziraphale pursed his lips. "Well. You're going to love this. Bit much for me at times, all told, but I do enjoy it.*Aziraphale and Crowley meet for the first time since their argument in the 1860's.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	Bourbon and Mint

England, 1928

If Crowley could help it, she wouldn't be here. She had a comfortable four poster bed at home and had been woken at least twenty years earlier than she would have liked. Truth be told, she could sleep for another thousand years and then some, but it was difficult. When hell finally realized it had been half a century and Crowley hadn't reported any new mischief or misdeeds, they sent a few torments to plague her dreams. The nightmares were so life like, and while unpleasant they were tolerable. In the last few months, though, they had started to break through her defenses, needle out what really made her tick one by one. When the unseen beings began to look familiar... A fiery sword held by soft round hands. The searing pain and ripping of wings. The smell of bubbling sulfur and burnt hair... Crowley had awoken with her own claw marks covering her chest and back, struggling and gasping. Fine. Hell wanted some fucking reports. She would provide.

She found herself at the first party she could find. It wasn't hard. This century, it seemed, was full of them. Find a gathering, stir up trouble. Or get drunk while the humans stir it up and claim it as your own. Nothing big of course, but it seemed there was plenty of temptations, lust, drugs, gambling. Either way, results were the same. Dagon tossed half of all reports in the fire anyway. Paperwork was just a modern form of torture, a way to keep demons in line and miserable. They didn't care what you were doing so long as you were seen to be doing something.

When Crowley stepped inside the party was already in full swing. People and lights glistened and twirled, buzzing, giggling, empty words floating through the air. Music treaded the fine line between loud and cacophonous. A flick of her hand and her outfit matched the style of those around her, dark fabric contrasting her pale skin. It didn't take much, a whisper in an ear, a small nod at someone. Interesting. When she went to bed people seemed much more reserved. Now they were looser, relaxed. Delicious fruit ripe for the picking.

She did another lap around the room, debating if she had done enough that she could leave early when something jostled her from behind. She stumbled, sticky red wine spilling from her glass to drench her.  _ Fucking hell. _ Crowley whipped around, fangs bared and an accusing finger already pointed. "Oi! Watch where you're-"

"Crowley?" The voice was familiar, light, questioning.  _ Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. _ Crowley deflated immediately, pointed finger still hanging limply in the air. They hadn't seen each other since before. When she had pushed him into leaving. Before she had fallen asleep for sixty years.

"Angel." Crowley tried not to stare. Tried to act cool and nonchalant. The jewels and decorations of the era suited the angel. While Crowley had always blurred the lines between gender and clothing, it was rare to see Aziraphale outside the male fashions of the time. Though the dress swept slightly lower than those surrounding them, Aziraphale was no less decorated with lace, beads, and fringe. Long gloves reached up soft hands, revealing a tempting sliver of skin between glove and sleeve. Those soft dapper curls, last covered by a hat, were instead delicately pinned back behind a silver headband similar to Crowley's own, but with a large white feather attached at the side. "What are you doing at this den of iniquity?"

Aziraphale's lips pursed. "Really now, it's not as bad as all that. If you must know, I was invited. A young patron of my bookshop. Seems I've misplaced the poor bunny." Aziraphale gave a cursory glance over the shoulder and Crowley's eyes narrowed, trying to decode the meaning of 'poor bunny,' debating if it was a familiarity of the time she had awoken in or something more. Aziraphale's voice dropped to a whisper. "Bit of a flat tire anyway. Come. Let's get you cleaned up my dear."

Aziraphale led her away towards the bar with a hand placed gently at the small of her back, hovering but not quite touching, confident yet still hesitant. A snap of fingers on the other hand and the stain was gone. Her mind was a muddle of feelings and confusion as if it had been replaced by runoff from the Thames. It could not be said they parted on good terms. Crowley remembered her mocking echo clearly. She had wanted to push him in with the ducks for heaven's sake. What was the angel playing at acting almost sweet to her now? She needed more alcohol, that was for sure. Or maybe she had already had too much.

"Mint Julep please. For my acquaintance here."

"She'll have..." Crowley thought for a moment, trying to remember Aziraphale's favorite. "Bourbon. Two fingers."

Aziraphale took the glass and waved Crowley off. "You know I don't go in much for that kind of thing. Gender and all that. Not like you." Aziraphale's lips twitched with a smile, indicating there was no harshness or teasing, they just had different relationships with it. " 'He' is perfectly fine. Ah! Thank you dear."

Aziraphale took the drink from the bartender and closed his eyes, savoring the smallest sip. Crowley looked at her cocktail unsure, downed the thing in two long gulps, slamming the glass just a little too hard onto the counter. "It's been, what? Sixty years? What have you been up to? Nice dress by the way. Suits you."

"Sixty-six," he corrected immediately, as if Crowley didn't know, as if Crowley had simply forgotten or lost track. He waved his hand. "Nothing interesting I assure you. A few miracles, inspiration of a figure or two. Does it look alright? Oh, I was concerned, but the style has gotten a bit looser, you know, and it reminded me- well you remember the robes? They were quite comfortable and I wondered if maybe I might- No matter. What are you doing here? Any cunning wiles I should know about?" He raised his eyebrow knowingly but Crowley just waved him off.

"Nah. Nothing big anyway. Just woke up. Figured couple thousand years, I had earned a century or so nap. Somebody," she sneered and looked down as if she could see straight through the floor and earth, "disagreed."

"You've just been sleeping? Since-" Aziraphale cut off but they both knew what he was referring to. She shrugged noncommittally. Aziraphale pursed his lips. "Well. You're going to love this. Bit much for me at times, all told, but I do enjoy it. Although-" He glanced up and around the dance floor as if searching for something. Satisfied he reached behind him, then up into Crowley's hair. When he pulled away a long white feather was tucked in her black headband. "Much better! Feathers are very 'in' you know."

Crowley tried very hard not to blush. She didn't want to break this moment, really didn't, but she couldn't ignore the importance of it. "Listen angel, I know you don't want to hear it, but about the holy water-" Aziraphale's face hardened instantly. Crowley pressed on. "I need the insurance. If downstairs finds out-"

"No. No, absolutely not. I cannot have you risking yourself like that. It's practically suicide!" He took a deep breath and calmed a little, though his voice was still firm. "Crowley, we had a little spat and you fell asleep for sixty years. If something happened and you... This isn't a simple discorporation we are talking about. It would destroy you completely!"

Crowley closed her eyes in a huff of frustration, instantly regretting it. Darkness swam before her, ears ringing with distant screams. Dagon's sharp teeth, Hastur's rotting flesh, blood dripping from Ligur's claws. Her eyes snapped open and the angel swam before her, but he was not right, smile crooked and twisted, sword in hand, black sludge oozing down. Demonic blood. Her blood. She blinked and both angels were there, real and dream, superimposed on each other. After a few seconds only the real remained. She felt queasy and her legs were unsteady. "There are worse things than death, hell knows that," she murmured, though more to herself than the angel. "Anyway it's not like I'm completely reckless. I have a safe for it. I'd take precautions."

"It's not an accident I'm worried about Crowley! I will not give you holy water and that's that." Aziraphale got up to leave and Crowley was thrown back to the last time they had met. As much as the angel annoyed her at times, as much as they were supposed to be enemies, they had quickly developed a connection. A few thousand years had only let it develop into something past a casual acquaintanceship. She would never admit it, but it pained her to leave things so strained again. 

She reached out for the angel's hand. "No, Aziraphale wait."

Her fingers latched onto his wrist and he spun shocked. "Unhand me!"

Crowley dropped her hand as if scalded and stared down at her fingers. They tingled slightly with energy.  _ He wouldn't _ . She tried very hard to push the images from her mind, him standing over her, crackling with electricity, tearing blood covered feathers before throwing her with as much force as he could. Burning, searing, darkness. She shook her head slightly. It's not real. Just hell messing with her again. She focused back on the scene around her. Aziraphale fussed and straightened his dress before turning to leave. "What about a dance then? Drop the whole thing."

"A dance?" Aziraphale repeated confused. Crowley nodded, lowering her glasses slightly and he knew he was being tempted, but oh, it was difficult to say no. "And you swear you won't ask again?"

"Cross my heart," she said, miming a little x over where her heart would be if she were human.

"...well, I suppose one dance couldn't hurt." Aziraphale offered her a hand and she took it, letting him lead her into the crowd.

She walked home around 4 am when there was no one out, no one to see her. Heels in hand, glasses pushed up onto her forehead, grinning widely.. The door unlocked for her, knowing better than to fight or disobey. She was positively giddy, though she would never admit it. Crowley opened the door and stopped in her tracks. Something was off. Wrong. Her eyes squinted into the darkness and she sniffed the air, tongue poking out slightly to heighten her senses. The whole apartment smelled of rot, decaying flesh. She could barely make out the shape of a familiar figure standing arms crossed in the middle of the room.

"Lord Beelzebub," she curtsied low to distract from the distaste in her voice. "What a surprise." She flicked the light on next to her and Beelzebub hissed at the brightness. "Drink?"

She turned to the kitchen and started fiddling with bottles, pulling two glasses from a cabinet as she went and sliding her glasses over her eyes. Beelzebub frowned in distaste. "I am not here for pleazzzure Crowley." They squinted, taking in flat with disapproval, and Crowley felt unnecessary anger bubbling like hot sulfur in her chest. "Why havvvve you evvaded us for so long?"

Crowley shrugged. "Just a quick nap. Come up with my best ideas while I'm sleeping. You remember Sodom?" Admittedly, she had played a very small role in the temptations there, but she was in town, which was more than she could say for some of her claims. Thankfully a certain angel had been there as well to give her warning while the place still existed.

She turned away from the countertop and Beelzebub was standing close to her, much closer than she had remembered. Beelzebub stepped closer, and the fact that they were almost a head shorter did nothing to smother the fear climbing in her throat. They stopped just short of touching, noses a hair's breadth apart, and Crowley tried very hard not to blink or swallow, knowing it would be taken as weakness. Beelzebub reached up slowly, and it took all of her effort not to start vibrating with anxiety as they plucked a snow white feather from her hair. "And what-" they said, delicately spinning the feather between two fingers, "is your big 'plan'?"

Crowley's brain ran, working overtime, trying to plan, protect. After a second she smiled a little too widely, a little too many teeth. She would never admit to praying, or even believing at this point, but she sent up a silent prayer that her bluff would work. "To tempt an angel."

Beelzebub watched their fingers as they twirled the feather once more. "Thizz is a long game you are playing Crowley." Crowley held her breath, waiting to see if they would buy it. Beelzebub let the feather trail out of their fingers to the ground. "Plant the seeeeedzzz. Make him doubt." They turned to leave. Crowley winced as a mud covered boot stained the feather. "But do not act. Thingzzzz will be changing. Something izz in the workz. We must be prepared." The ground shifted and they sank down, body dissolving into earth until there was no trace.

Crowley let out her breath and slumped onto the kitchen floor. That was too fucking close. She couldn't keep doing this, couldn't keep risking. She picked up the feather, blowing on it gently and willing the gunk away. As much as Aziraphale disapproved, she needed that holy water. She would just have to find another way to get it. Crowley ran her finger along the now clean edge, watching as the fringe pulled away from her before springing back into place. It was late. She would ring Aziraphale in the morning. In the meantime, they could exist in this bubble, living in this night for as long as it would last.

  
  



End file.
